


Bleeding into Eternity

by nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)



Category: Third Watch
Genre: Depression, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23551393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive
Summary: Written pre 2005. Posted for archival purposes.Faith struggles to find herself as time moves forward.
Relationships: Maurice Boscorelli/Faith Yokas





	Bleeding into Eternity

_Monday, February 18, 2008_

_4:10pm_

Her legs are curled beneath her. She feels safer this way, her body pulled into a protective ball. The room smells of antiseptic and other, less pleasant odors. Its starkness makes her feel cold. Muted white, no other hint of colour. Even the chair she's sitting on is white.

It's meant to be calming, but she feels anything but calm. The clock on the wall reminds her of grade school, looming ahead of her, the only thing in her line of sight. She stares at it now, as she did then, watching as the second hand meets the hour, pushing the minute hand forward.

Four eleven. She turns away.

Light spills through the grating on the window, forming a crisscross pattern on the worn tile floor. The image only serves to remind her that she is trapped. She watches the stream of late afternoon sun as it reflects off dozens of tiny dust particles. They stir, becoming a swirling mass with the passing of shadow.

"Faith."

It takes her several moments to recognize the pretty, young nurse in front of her.

"Mary," she forces past her tongue.

"It's time for your meds honey," the nurse informs her, handing her a small plastic cup, filled with a colourful array of pills and tablets.

Holding the cup with shaking hands, she tilts her head back, swallowing the concoction of narcotics dry. She extends her tongue, waiting for the nurse's nod before turning back to her sunlight.

~*~

_Monday, October 8, 2007_

_9:53pm_

Time moves slowly, seconds ticking by, marking the end of something. She's never really been clear on what that is, but knows she's lost it forever. Even now, as she stares at the brightly lit display on the dashboard, she can feel the moment disappearing, denying her its existence.

She hasn't spoken the entire shift, but neither has he. She thinks perhaps that's why she's noticing the passage of time. Concentrating on it gives her something to fill the silence. Something to pass the hours.

Nine fifty-four. She blinks.

The digits become blurry and she realizes she's crying, unaware of the tears until now. She didn't mean for them, they come unbidden. He doesn't notice, he never does. Not anymore. A year ago, maybe. Two years ago, definitely.

She supposes it doesn't matter anymore. They both seem comfortable with their current arrangement. Work is simply that, it doesn't touch her outside the uniform. Outside of this place, she's not a cop.

He flips on the siren and she realizes she's missed the call. He pulls from the curb, taking them deep within the city. She doesn't ask where they're going, not really caring. One call is the same as any other. She's done it a million times. Instead she stares out the window, watching the passage of buildings, cars, people. They all blur together, becoming a continuous stream of colour and light.

~*~

_Tuesday, February 19, 2008_

_8:45am_

She knows he's speaking, she can see his lips moving. His words are lost to the din of the hall, hidden only by a thin, glass door. She glances behind her, trying to make out the blur of passing shapes, each lost to the frosted panes.

"Faith. Are you listening to me?"

His voice breaks her concentration, causing her to frown.

"Yes," she replies, her tone flat.

"Good…."

She maintains eye contact this time, occasionally nodding or making non committal sounds of agreement. Her expression never changes, but her focus moves to the small clock, hanging on the wall above his desk.

Eight forty-six. She exhales.

She hates these sessions, each one seeming longer then the last. She wills it to end, wanting nothing more then to return to her room and sleep.

"Faith, this is important. You do want to get better. Don't you?"

Blink

"I'm sorry, I'm tired," she explains.

She's always tired. She can't remember a time she wasn't. Her days bleed into weeks, stretching into months. She tries to recall her life before this, but can only bring up hazy half memories.

"That's alright. I understand. Why don't you head back to your room, get some rest. We can continue this tomorrow," he tells her.

She nods, rising slowly from her chair and turning back to the frosted glass doors. The hall is still now, nothing moving on the other side.

~*~

_Tuesday, October 9, 2007_

_11:10 am_

She blinks, bringing the room into focus. Harsh light greets her, forcing her to close her eyes, redness swimming beneath her eyelids. She rises slowly, running her hand through tangled hair. Her thumb catches, causing her to wince as pain radiates through her scalp.

She pads down the hall, stumbling over her discarded boots. She utters a small curse before continuing to the bathroom. She leaves the overhead light off, the light from the hall enough to brighten the interior.

Her refection is fuzzy, the residue of cheap glass cleaner leaving streaks across the mirror's surface. She stares hard, squinting to see past the distortion. Pale skin and dark eyes meet her gaze. She abruptly turns away, leaving the room, no longer able to bear the sight.

She feels out of place in the kitchen, the room empty except for the bare necessities. She makes coffee, knowing she needs something to jumpstart her body. She waits patiently for it to brew, the process seeming to take an eternity with each slow, steady drip. Her eyes dart to the microwave clock.

Eleven twelve. She reaches for the phone.

He picks up after three, his voice thick with sleep. She frowns, wondering why he's only woken up now.

"I just wanted to make sure Charlie got to school alright," she says, her voice catching in the back of her throat.

"He gets there fine every morning Faith. You don't need to call here," Fred replies, irritated.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure," she explains.

She's greeted with dial tone, the sound seeming oddly loud and misplaced. She hangs up the phone, staring at the receiver before turning back to her now brewed coffee.

~*~

_Tuesday, February 19, 2008_

_3:12pm_

The noise from the television assaults her ears, ringing with an intensity she can't handle right now. She wants to ask for it to be turned down, but knows the chaos that will result. She can't handle that either.

Instead she moves to the vacant chair by the window, overlooking the courtyard. She wishes she could be out there right now, but doubts they'll allow it. Not after the last incident. For a moment a familiar figure catches her eye. The man turns, revealing himself to be a stranger. Everyone is a stranger now.

She forces her gaze elsewhere, not wanting the reminder that no one will visit her here. Instead she settles on the sparse patches of snow, dotting the landscape in dirty piles of grey. Everything is grey. It doesn't hold her focus long.

Pushing herself from the chair, she moves to the nurses station, a fortress in the middle of the room, surrounded by wire and thick glass. She pauses by the front window, a small hole cut out to allow a semblance of conversation.

"Can I help you?" an older nurse asks.

She recognizes her, but can't place the name. "I just, I'm not feeling so well. I was hoping I could have my meds early today," she explains, her eyes darting to the nurse's watch.

Three fifteen. She tenses.

"It's only an hour Faith. You can wait," the nurse replies.

She didn't expect another answer, but it still disappoints her. She hates waiting. And that's all she does now, one endless day, each moment bringing her closer to nothing. Resignation filling her, she returns to the recreation room, sinking into the hard sofa, cringing at the still loud television.

~*~

_Tuesday, October 9, 2007_

_2:45pm_

The locker room is empty, something she's glad for. She needs the silence, just for a few minutes longer. She moves to her locker, spinning the lock with habitual precision. It clicks, the clasp releasing and granting her access. She pulls the door open, staring into its darkness.

She doesn't think as she pulls out a clean uniform. Numbly she changes, the process familiar, comfortable even. She's acutely aware of the door banging open, voices carrying across the hollow room.

The noise stops abruptly once they realize she's there. She offers a small smile, the effort obvious. Ty returns it. Sully glances at his shoes. She doesn't blame them, she wouldn’t want to acknowledge her presence either.

"How are you doing Faith?"

She glances up, no longer knowing how to answer that question. It's been so long since anyone asked it.

"I'm okay, you?" she asks.

"Pretty good," Ty replies.

The conversation dies as suddenly as it began, leaving the room bathed in awkward silence. Not knowing what else to do, she closes her locker, glancing at the clock on the far wall.

Two forty-eight. She leaves.

Roll call is non existent this early. She chooses a seat near the back, pushed aside in the far corner. She knows no one will sit near her, not even Bosco. He gave up long ago. She concentrates on her hands, her eyes playing across the worn creases, the multitude of scars. Each its own story. Closing her eyes, she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk.

~*~

_Wednesday, February 20, 2008_

_12:00pm_

She stares at her soup, steam rising softly from the amber liquid. She isn't hungry, and hasn't been in some time. She knows she should eat, but can't seem to find the desire. Putting down her spoon, she grabs a package of crackers from the tray. She doesn't open them, instead crushing the pair into fine powder.

All around her she hears the noise of eating, talking, yelling. It's numbing. She blocks it out, wanting nothing more then to crawl beneath the table and hide. She doesn't belong here. She never did.

"You need to eat Faith."

"I'm not hungry," she states, the response automatic now.

The orderly frowns, but otherwise remains silent. He doesn’t really care if she eats. She's his job, nothing more. Pushing aside her tray, she stands, moving into the hall. Her steps are weary as she heads towards her room. Sleep is what she needs now.

Her room is barren of any personal possessions. She doesn't want the reminder of her former self. She sinks into the stiff mattress, the sheets hospital white, smelling vaguely of bleach.

She stares at the ceiling, dry flakey paint filling her vision. She can almost find a pattern in the worn crevices and lines. Her gaze falls to the small window on her door. There's no pretense of privacy here. Everything she does is open to all. It no longer bothers her, the sense of violation faded into acceptance long ago.

Through the window, she can just make out the far clock, the numbers blurred by the plexi-glass. She squints, not really caring what time it is, but wanting the knowledge, as though it can somehow deceive her that she is in control.

Twelve ten. She frowns.

Closing her eyes, she wills sleep to come, knowing it is the only thing that eases her time here. She's given up hope of ever leaving. Four months is too long for anyone. Four months breaks a person.

~*~

_Wednesday, October 10, 2007_

_6:35pm_

She feels compelled to order something, even though she isn't hungry. Her plate sits untouched, her eyes fixed on the tabletop. Absently she reaches for a fry, popping it into her mouth. It's cold, and tastes dully like cardboard. She makes a face, reaching for her diet coke.

The beverage sits like acid in her stomach, reminding her she hasn't eaten today. She tries to recall the last time she ate a proper meal, but can't seem to remember. Surely it hasn't been that long. A day, maybe two.

"Faith, you coming?"

Shaken from her thoughts, she glances up to notice Bosco looming above her. He's staring at her as though expecting a response. She's not sure she has one.

"What?" she asks.

"We got a call," he explains, frowning down at her.

"Oh, um, yeah," she replies, pushing her plate away before standing and following him from the diner. Glancing at her watch, she wonders where their meal break went. She doesn't remember it starting, let along finishing.

Seven fifteen. She climbs into the car.

She barely has time to fasten her seatbelt before they're pulling from the parking lot, speeding down the street. Bosco doesn't glance at her, his jaw tight, stiff. She things he's angry, upset with her. Or maybe with himself for not being able to help. She doesn't know anymore.

They arrive in front of a vaguely familiar building. She's certain they've been here before, but can't place the memory. Everything in the city seems the same. Endless stretches of streets and buildings.

"Faith!"

It's forceful this time, and she realizes she's still sitting in the car. He's staring at her intently now, an open scowl on his face. Inhaling sharply, she opens the door, exiting onto the street.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

"Look, if you're not capable of doing your job, you shouldn't be out here," he tells her, his voice softening slightly.

"I'm fine," she replies, pushing past him and into the building.

~*~

_Thursday, February 21, 2008_

_3:15am_

She stares into the darkness, the room seeming to shrink in around her, suffocating her under its despair. She takes a shuddering breath, in and out, in and out, trying desperately to keep from crying.

The effort is futile, fresh tears spilling onto her cheeks. She wipes them away, the action angry, irritated. She hates being weak, hates feeling helpless. She knows she's stronger then this.

Even more, she hates these moments. Darkness her only companion. Not that she's made friends here, she can't even fathom why she'd want to. Even the staff pays her no mind. She's alone. It's only in the solitude of the night that it strikes her.

She tries closing her eyes, forming a calming image. A trick she learnt her first week here, not that it's ever helped. She slows her breathing. Hours seem to pass before she relaxes, her body softening into the mattress.

Outside the metallic clank of keys draws her attention. They're making their nightly rounds. Footsteps echo through the empty halls, breaking through the stillness with an intensity that makes her cringe.

Three Thirty. She reasons.

An orderly pauses by her door, peering through the small window. She forces herself to relax. She doesn't want her medication dose increase. She remembers the last time she was found awake in the middle of the night.

He passes quickly enough, causing her to release a shuddering breath she didn't know she was holding. She sighs, turning her attention back to the ceiling.

~*~

_Thursday, October 11, 2007_

_5:18am_

Rain splatters against the window, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent apartment. Turning on her side, she watches it hit the glass, small perfect beads marred by continuous streams of water.

Restless, she turns over, attempting to find some position that will offer comfort. The clock on the night stand glares at her, aqua numbers seeming too bright in the dark room.

Five Thirty Six. She sighs.

Giving up on sleep, she slips from the bed, making her way into the living room. The television blares, forcing her to turn the volume down. She knows her neighbors will be sleeping.

Smiling faces bleed through the screen. She never understood the concept of morning shows. She wonders briefly who wakes up at this hour, watches these programs. She's certain those seeing the sun from her end want no part in their happiness.

She hates this. She can't quite pinpoint what it is she hates. A sense of discontentment. A feeling of helplessness. She doesn't even remember the last time she had any kind of control. It terrifies her.

Resigning herself to not sleeping, she rises from the couch, moving to the kitchen. She sets the coffee maker to brew before heading to the bathroom, turning on the shower. She knows today will be long. Everyday is long.

~*~

_Friday, February 22, 2008_

_10:45pm_

She hates group. Hates it more then anything else in this place. She blocks most of it out, not really caring why anyone else is here. She doesn't want to know these people. She's not like them. She doesn't belong in their world.

She huddles in her corner, her chair slightly askew, breaking the circle. No one pays her any attention. They're too caught up in their own lives, their own problems. Jane's rambling on about her husband. Her story is interspersed with curses, rage rolling off the woman in waves.

She glances across the room, watching as the clock ticks forward. For a moment, she swears it's moving backwards. She wouldn't be surprised. It seems she's doomed to live out this misery for an eternity.

Ten Fifty Two. She closes her eyes.

"Faith, you haven't said much today. Why don't you share something with the group?" Dr. Stephens asks.

She opens her eyes, sitting up abruptly. The group's attention is focused on her, causing her to squirm in her seat. She hates being the centre of attention. She wills him to ignore her, move on to the next person. He doesn't.

"Um, what do you want me to share?" she asks, the hint of sarcasm obvious in her voice.

"Why don't you tell us why you're here," Stephens presses. She's beginning to hate the man.

"I killed the guy who raped and murdered my daughter. Then, six months later, I overdosed on sleeping pills. You want anything else?" she practically spits.

The room remains silent. No one ever knows how to react to her outbursts. Stephens merely frowns, scribbling something in his notebook.

~*~

_Friday, October 12, 2007_

_2:15pm_

She stares at the phone, hating that she's lied to Swersky. She almost wishes she was sick, could take the day without feeling the pressure of guilt. But she knows, knows she can't handle another day out there. She's not sure she can handle a day in here, but given the alternatives.

The sharp whistle of the kettle draws her attention, reminding her she set water to boil. She pulls it from the stove, setting about making tea. She needs something soothing. Coffee doesn't seem to be helping much these days.

The cup is warm against her skin. She cautiously crosses into the living room, not wanting to spill its contents. She sinks into her chair by the window, placing the cup on the ledge.

Pounding on the door draws her from her thoughts. She frowns, wondering who would possibly show up in the middle of the afternoon. She glances down at the VCR, digital numbers taunting her, reminding her of the time she's wasted.

Three Forty Seven. She stands.

She doesn't bother checking to see who it is, not really caring who she lets into her house. The deadbolt makes a soft clink, ringing out, startling her. She pulls the door wide.

"Figured I'd find you here." His tone betraying his annoyance.

"What do you want Bosco?" she asks, not bothering to hide her exhaustion.

"You just gonna stop coming to work now? Is that it? What the fuck happened to you Faith, huh?" he shouts, his words angry.

"What the fuck happened to me? What the fuck happened to me? Get out! Get the fuck out!" she screams, hysteria seeping to the surface.

"No. No. She's gone Faith. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. But she's gone. And you have to move on," he retorts, moving in to encroach her space.

"You're sorry. And that what Bosco? That makes everything better?" she counters, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

"There's nothing else you can do Faith. We caught the guy, we caught him. It's over."

It's never over. But she doesn't expect him to understand that.

"We? No Bos, I caught the guy. Me! I found him. It was –my- bullet that brought him down. Mine. You didn't do anything. You –never- do anything."

He doesn't respond, instead choosing to leave, the door slamming shut behind him. She waits until she hears the elevator doors closing before collapsing on the ground, allowing herself to cry in earnest.

~*~

_Saturday, February 23, 2008_

_6:43pm_

The common room is empty for once. Everyone else is downstairs, participating in some sort of social activity. She opted out, earning several additional paragraphs to her permanent file. She can't handle it today. She needs the quiet.

The television is muted. She watches the pictures, swirling masses of colours that hint at the plot. She doesn't want to hear it, knowing sound will make it real. She doesn't want anything to be real.

Restlessness consumes her and she finds she can no longer sit. She stands, pacing the length of the room. News headlines flash on the screen, catching her peripheral vision. The time filters by across a scrolling bar, seeming to move faster then the passing seconds.

Six Fifty. She stops.

She knows this scene. Knows the person standing in the background, ushering back onlookers. Bosco. Her breath catches, stilling in her throat until she's certain she might choke. She turns away, heading to the nurses station.

"I need to make a phone call," she all but demands.

"I'm sorry Faith, you need to clear that with one of the doctors first," the nurse replies.

"Please, you can listen in, I just, I need to call someone," she pleads, desperate now.

The nurse pauses, her expression becoming thoughtful. She glances around the empty room before pushing the phone through the window, offering Faith a small smile.

"Thank you."

She picks up the phone with shaking hands, dialing a number she was sure she'd forgotten.

~*~

_Saturday, October 13, 2003_

_7:29pm_

She disconnected the phone several hours ago, tired of its insistent ringing. She knows it's him, worried that she's missed yet another night of work. He won't show up again, not after the last time.

Her hands are shaking and she can't quite figure out why. She feels tired, numb. Nothing seems to hold her attention anymore. She can't focus on the simplest of tasks. She feels so incomplete, so alone.

Fred left soon after Emily's death, taking Charlie with him. Not that she blames him, hell, she's almost glad. Charlie doesn't need to know her life. Emily certainly didn’t. And yet, she lived it everyday.

She finds herself in the bedroom, photo albums spread across the bed. She doesn't remember half of them. She doesn't recognize the woman in the pictures. She can't recall ever being that happy. She glances at the alarm clock, wondering if she should set it for the morning.

Seven Thirty Three. She doesn't, knowing she won't sleep.

She flips through the pages, worn by time and use. They're dust covered now, hidden away too long. She wonders when she put them away. Why. She can't find an answer, and it fills her with regret.

She contemplates calling Bosco, telling him she's alright. She doesn't, knowing he'll still be upset. She didn't mean to yell at him. She never does. But he's there. Instead she takes a sip of her wine. It rolls on her tongue, combining with the Ativans she took earlier, lulling her into a sense of numbness.

~*~

_Sunday, February 24, 2008_

_1:10pm_

He's late. Not that she expected anything else. Still, she can feel apprehension creeping its way into her system. She waits, her thumbs idly tapping against the wooden table top. She glances at the clock, panic nearly overwhelming her.

One Twelve. She stills.

She's almost forgotten what he looked like. His image, a vague memory swimming at the surface of her subconscious. The sight of him now takes her breath away. She offers a faint smile, easing both their tension.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey," he replies, pulling a chair out across from her.

She waits for him to sit before continuing. "I'm glad you came. I didn't think you would," she tells him, nervousness seeping into her words.

"I didn't think you wanted me here," he retorts, cringing at his tone.

"I'm sorry," she states, not knowing what else to say.

"Me too," he echoes, looking just as lost as she feels.

Silence stretches between them. She doesn't want this to be the way he remembers her. Doesn't want this to be their last words. She knows this is her doing. Knows he's partly to blame. But she also knows she won't let this beat them.

"Bos, I never meant for any of this. I just, I want you to know, I'm okay, and I need to know that you are. I need you," she tells him, surprised by her own honesty.

He pauses, glancing up to meet her eye. His hand moves across the table, intertwining with her own. He smiles then, reassuring her with his eyes, a gentle squeeze.

"You have me Faith. You always have," he replies.

In that moment, she believes him. And it's enough. Enough to know that she'll be alright. They'll be alright. Enough to give her the will to try.


End file.
